His force spent, Gregory slumped back in his chair. Voss was silent for along time, his gregarious mood suddenly vanished.
"In that case there's something I should tell you, sir," he said at length. "I've been on to my contacts at the Mundaneum. They informed me that old Father Spear and his flock were getting up to some…queer business."
"What do you mean?"
Voss shook his head, the mutton chops turning his head leonine in the gaslight. "I don't rightly know, but apparently Spear and his little group renamed themselves the Company of Electricizers when they left the Universalist Church, and they were working on…well, something not very Christian, sir. Rumor has it they were worshipping something they called the 'Living Motor', and their messiah was just about to materialize here on Earth."
Gregory swirled the brandy in his glass, staring into its depths.
"I think I should go and prepare myself for tomorrow night," he said quietly. "But before I do, could I ask you a question in return?"
"Ask away, sir."
"What is behind the curtain?"
Voss drew his eyebrows together. "Why, you've just told me, sir. The mysteries of Heaven and Hell and the four-dimensional wotsisname."
"No." Gregory pointed to the velvet cloth hung at the far end of the cabin. "I mean, what is behind that curtain?"
"Oh." Voss turned to look, then threw back his head and laughed, his jowls shaking with perplexed mirth. "Oh, that curtain? Never you mind, sir. Nothing you need concern yourself with. That curtain, you mean. Oh, my stars and garters!"
Three
Lentz arrived at the stroke of eight, coming aboard the Jolly Boatman and lowering himself down the steps with care.
"Good evening, sir," said Voss brightly.
"It is not such a good evening." Lentz moved into the cabin and removed his hat. He looked extremely uneasy. "I believe we were followed on the road here."
Voss looked at the bodyguards sharply. "Are you sure?"
One of them shrugged. "No, we can't be sure, but the gentleman says he has…a bad feeling."
Mr. Gregory turned from Lentz to Voss. "Then what should we do?"
The big man shrugged. "I suggest we start immediately."
Within fifteen minutes, Gregory was seated at the round table in the main cabin, with Lentz sitting opposite him. There was no need to hold hands; that was only when large numbers of people were involved. Gregory had put Lentz under a mild form of hypnosis, so that when he entered the trance, he would use the Colonial's emotional connections to find Father Murray Spear.
Gregory had seated himself across from the painting of Salisbury Cathedral, so he was looking directly at it, over the Colonial's shoulder. Lentz seemed to have his own technique for going into a trance, for he slipped into it almost immediately, his head slumping down onto his chest.
Gregory began to breath deeply, rhythmically, his eyes fixed on the painting, the contrast of light and shade, the depth of vision, the endless interplay of the colors of brushwork. He projected himself into it, walking along the bower toward the cathedral, the cabin's interior losing definition and shape. The crossing of the veil between life and death was never abrupt. As Gregory's astral self left his physical body, an invisible thread of subtle matter linking it to his flesh and blood heart, the painting grew and grew until the brushwork became great sweeping blocks of architecture. The ticking of the clock stopped, and Voss and his gray men became hazy and blurred, until they faded completely. The sound of distant, singing voices grew louder as the afterlife began to unfold around him – pure white, infinite and perfectly transparent.
He heard a jingling of metal and his name being called in a strange, faraway voice.
A shimmering figure appeared, walking in the nothingness, the iron mask of a sharp-beaked hawk upon its face. Its eyes were dark holes. A feathered cloak hung from its shoulders, adorned with the shapes of suns, moons and stars cut out of metal sewn into its fabric. In one hand the shaman held a small drum; in the other a wooden staff, the head carved with symbols of lightning.
This was Gregory's spirit guide. Zoya, of the Ostyak tribe in distant Siberia. Zoya had once told Gregory that something had happened in his tribe's homeland, something that had turned the tribe's elders into immensely powerful shamans and psychopomps. It was through Zoya's power that Gregory could walk in the Great Beyond.
– Ket, the shaman said in greeting, and Gregory heard the voice inside his head.
– Where is the Garden, the medium asked.
– The Garden is all around you, Zoya replied. – You grow closer to it every moment you live.
Gregory could now see it. Shapes were forming around him, as if a white mist was clearing away. Dark stone, walls darkening the light, the green of living foliage blossoming in empty space.
The Gardens of Melancholy materialized around him in the soft light. He stood on the flagstones of a path, surrounded by tall shrubs of white holly, yew, juniper, cypress. Vases and urns and statues stood at intervals along the path. It led to something that looked like a manor house, its walls grand but overrun by ivy and moss.
He recognized everything; but it all seemed more ghost-like and insubstantial this time, and there was an eerie stillness and quiet everywhere.
– We have serious problems here, ket, the shaman said. The Gardens have been damaged on every level. Not only that, but the hierarchy of the Spheres themselves has been disturbed.
– What do you mean, disturbed?
– The engineer has asked for you. And it will destroy the Gardens completely if you do not go.
– Nothing has the power to do that.
– Nothing until now.
Gregory stared at the bird-mask, until Zoya raised a feathered arm and pointed.
– You must go alone.
– You cannot be serious.
– I cannot pass beyond this point, Ket. Some force is preventing me.
– I see. Very well. Never mind.
Leaving the shaman behind, Gregory walked the path, the impressive Gothic doors of the manor house looming before him. As he approached, he heard something, a steady whispering in his head. He gazed accusingly at the age-blackened statues of angels and cherubs decorating a nearby fountain.
– The glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together, one statue whispered.
– All flesh waxeth old as a garment, for the covenant from the beginning is; thou shalt die the death, said another.
Gregory squared his shoulders and climbed the steps. The doors swung inward as he approached.
*
In the main cabin, Voss stared down at the two men at the table. Their heads were leaning backwards, their eyes were closed, and they seemed as still as wax dummies.
"Are they breathing, sir?" whispered Kilby, who hovered at Voss's elbow.
Voss leaned in closer to make sure. "Yes. I think so. Well, you know what our orders–"
"Mr. Voss." This was from Dawkins, on watch. "I think you should see this."
One of the rather unusual features of the Jolly Boatman was that it had a periscope, to view the surrounding countryside without opening any doors and windows. Dawkins stood back as Voss put his hands and eyes to the glass and copper device and scanned the countryside outside. The periscope was equipped with the latest image intensification lenses, ground to precision in the I.C.I. workshops, to magnify the moon and starlight.
The narrow-boat was coming up to the Newbold Tunnel that led to the Rugby waterways. Over the walled bridge above the tunnel opening, Voss could see moving figures. At least half a dozen. They wore caps and dark clothing, but it was clear to see they carried rifles. As Voss watched, one of them climbed onto the lip of the wall and stood erect, a studded, spherical object in each hand.
"Stop all engines," called Voss. He turned the periscope back over to Dawkins. "Do you see what he's holding?"
Dawkins looked. "Incendiary grenades," he said. "I'll bet you a guinea to a gooseberry that's the Sard
inians, sir. They want to get to Mr. Gregory before the Turks do."
"Lor lummee," muttered Voss. "That's torn it."
Four
Gregory had to forcibly remind himself that the hall, the chandelier, and the statues and the suits of armor along the walls were only representations, the air he thought he was breathing was not air, and the stone of the house was not stone.
Down the center of the hall ran a long banqueting table, and at the end of it, a man was seated in an elaborate chair that looked very much like a throne.
Gregory walked slowly down the left side of the hall, approaching the man. He recognized him instantly – the elderly, handsome face and the long gray hair was that of Murray Spear. The engineer-priest sat, encased in a peculiar garment of metal bands, gemstones, crystals, and what looked like zinc batteries, and he seemed to be…paralyzed.
Gregory paused. He had never seen anything like this before. The spirits in the Garden would sometimes be resigned, distressed, or in total denial, but he had never seen a tableaux so completely bizarre. He stayed where he was, thinking carefully about what Lentz had said, and what Voss had told him.
The man on the throne raised his hand in a gesture of impatience. "Come closer," he said, his voice faint but clear. "You are Gregory, yes?"
The Spiritualist nodded. He advanced slowly into the hall, and it felt like moving through petrified silence. As he got closer, he saw that the expression on Spear's face showed fear. Overwhelming fear. What was there to be scared of?
The elderly man twitched and shook on the throne, as if he was in the grip of some palsy, as if he could not control the actions of his ethereal body. Mr. Gregory walked forward evenly, remaining calm, doing nothing that might alarm the lost spirit.
– You can call me John Murray Spear, the old man said. A good name. I thought I was the Spear-head, you see. The vanguard of a new religion, a new movement.
He waved a hand at nothing, his mouth pulled into a hideous smile.
– I have been sent by Mr. Lentz and the agents of Queen Victoria, said Gregory.
– Lentz. Spear nodded slowly. – Yes, he is a believer. I lit the way for him, and he has followed the path.
Gregory was almost at the throne. – Do you know where you are, Mr. Spear?
– Yes. I am dead. I am in the Gardens.
He did not stand up but turned his face to look up at the new arrival, his eyes pathetic and pleading. – I do not know how long I have been here. Once we – I – realized the situation, it was simply waiting. The boredom of waiting. Then…there was sheer panic. Perhaps I am not dead. I am the only one alive, and everyone else is dead. They are all imprisoned within a living death!
Gregory stepped forward. – I am empowered on behalf of the British Empire to ask for your findings; I shall make sure they get into the right hands, and you shall be honored for it. Your name will enter the annals of science and be revered.
– Revered? A hideous, grating sound rose from the man's throat, and the body jerked in the chair, like a marionette on invisible strings.
– I shall be worshipped.
As the medium looked on, Spear's body trembled, and he let forth a terrible howl of pain.
– Gregory, you must leave here now, before it – He – destroys you. There is no secret.
– Sir: there is no method of broadcasting electricity through the ether, is there?
– I do not know what Lentz told you, but he is lying. It is you that…that…He wants.
Gregory was now standing directly before the throne. – What have you done, Mr. Spear? What exactly happened in Lynn and Rochester?
– The voices, Spear said, dragging the words out of himself with a huge effort. – The voices told me that a new age of machines needed a new God of machines. So I…and those of my flock who believed me…decided to build it.
– You did what?
– We built it, Mr. Gregory. We constructed a new Physical Savior, a Living Motive Force, a Mechanical Christ. We built the casing and exposed it to carefully selected individuals of both sexes, who were brought into its presence in order to raise the level of its vibrations. After days and nights of our men and women pouring their essence into the shell, it showed signs of life. Life, and intelligence. It was aware of itself, and of us – it could think.
Spear's head rolled on his shoulders, as he struggled to finish. – But the folk of Lynn heard of what we had done. They considered it blasphemy, and came to our church with guns, and knives, and torches. They destroyed the machine and I…
The old man's eyes filled with horror. – I…died. And awoke here. But the newborn intelligence, the Living Motor, it also woke up here. At the moment of birth, it was killed, and sent through the veil. And now it wants…it wants…
Spear's face twisted, and the tone of his voice changed; there was some other noise beneath his words. The noise had a sharp, metallic rasp, like cogs meshing together, or springs winding and unwinding.
– I have been grievously wronged, the voice said, – and vengeance shall be mine.
– It is not your prerogative to ask for vengeance, Gregory said, backing away slowly. – I warn you, sir, whoever or whatever you are. Aggression is not advisable. Do you really think you can threaten the British Empire?
– But I am not threatening you. I am already defeating you. My acolytes such as Lentz, who have received my blessing, walk among you and prepare the way for my arrival. You, John Gregory, shall escort me from this nowhere realm and house me within your body. Your own body. You shall join my church, be my vessel, my eyes, my hands, and I shall walk the land, bringing the gift of thought and sensibility to every machine I touch. It will be the new age. The age of spirits housed within machines, intelligent engines, awoken by the breath of life. We shall be the beautiful, ethereal mechanism, and you shall serve us so we may operate and survive!
As Gregory stared in revolted fascination at the man on the throne, Spear's face cleared, and his voice returned to normal.
– You must leave, he said, looking straight at Gregory. You cannot fight Him. No matter how strong you are, He is stronger.
– Spear, you must listen. There is no machine intelligence, and there were no voices. All of this has come from the darkest realms of your own mind. You said you poured your own essences into the casing – so you have not called forth a new Messiah, sir! It is simply a part of yourself that you were not aware of!
-No! No, He exists! He is the Divine Engine! The Living Motor, and the new Savior of the human race!
The floor beneath Gregory's feet shook.
Behind Spear, the back wall moved, as if it was coming apart; no, it was not collapsing, but rearranging itself, all of the glass and metalwork shifting and moving, animated with clear, purposeful intelligence.
The creature took shape before Gregory's astounded eyes. From the floor rose two metallic uprights connected at the top by a revolving steel shaft. The shaft supported an iron casing that housed gears, cranks, cogs, levers and pulleys, with a caged empty space right at the very heart of its workings. Above it was a smaller metal box filled with zinc and copper plates, wires, batteries, magnets, flywheels, glass mason jars, and two bulbs that began to glow with deadly intent.
The metal creature, now in the shape of a man, stretched up to the roof, towering over the helpless Spear.
God help me, thought Gregory.
Five
Inside the cabin of the Jolly Boatman, Voss strode to the thick velvet curtain and pulled it aside. Behind it lay a screen of polished brass, with a stool in front of it. Set into the screen were a number of glass display windows, and beneath each window, a dial and a large metal wheel.
Voss seated himself on the stool, cracking and flexing his fingers like a pianist about to perform. From a small mahogany box that lay on one side, he took out a number of punch-cards with different sequences of holes pierced through each one, and fed them into a copper-rimmed slot. He took hold of the main input wheel, and turned it with his b
rawny arms. From inside the device came the sound of spinning ratchets, clanking gears, and rattling levers.
"Every man to his station! Weapons systems on-line, Mr. Kilby!"
"Aye-aye, sir!"
*
Coils of gleaming metal wrapped themselves around Spear's body and lifted him into the air. He rose, his head lolling and arms and legs dangling, as he was jerked high like a rag doll in the hands of an angry child.
The rubble of the destroyed wall was swept up into the bulk of the vast metal shape, its hooks and pincers crushing brick and stone to transform them into the new and dreadful construction.
Gregory stared at it in horror.
The Living Motor, the Electrical Messiah, the Physical Savior built from electrical impulses and psychic residue, elevated itself higher until its head crashed against the roof of the hall. It lifted Spear, delicately now, and put him standing into the hollow space in the torso, where the belly and heart would have been for a human. Wires lashed out from the sides and snaked around the old man's arms and legs, holding him securely in place.
Gregory knew this was not really happening. It was not really metal, or stone, or flesh; but it could destroy him and Spear, that was real enough. It could eliminate their souls, and that was the most final death of all; and it craved existence. It wanted the beautifully machined and delicately engineered body that Spear had promised it.
A deep rumbling came from beneath Gregory's feet, and he swayed and tried to keep his balance. The creature was tearing the Gardens apart in its rage and its desire for life. What could he do? What could he do?
The statues and suits of armor in the hall dissolved into a boiling ocean of steam, which rolled around the hall as it dissolved, sucked into the groaning bellows of the Living Motor. The pincers reached out and encircled Gregory's form before he could move, girders of shining chrome that began to squeeze his astral form tighter and tighter. The great box of a head swung down, the mason jars and glass bulbs of its eyes glowing angry red.
Tales From Beyond Tomorrow: Volume One Page 3